Bullying

“Why do they bully? What’s the point of it? Why do you find joy in taking innocent people and finding a way to be mean to them?”

That's the question, isn't it, Keaton?  The video of middle-schooler Keaton Jones, talking to his mother with tears running down his cheeks while she's driving him home from school after lunch, had been viewed 20 million times -- on YouTube alone --by yesterday evening.  It was carried by the New York Times today, and was one of the most viewed articles in today's on-line edition.

Keaton's classmates had poured milk on him and stuffed ham inside his clothes.  This was nothing new.  The bullying had been constant and relentless.

Bullying is nothing new.  I was with more or less the same group of kids in both seventh and eighth grades.  I don't recall any physical bullying -- no fighting, no slamming of kids into their lockers.  No pouring of milk on them at lunch. 

But there was a constant undertone of verbal abuse against certain class members.  Repetitive abuse that continued day after day.  The abuse I recall happened to have been against girls, not boys.

One classmate was a Native American (then called an "Indian") named Diane Bear Paw.  I don't recall her being teased so much because of her ethnicity, although she may have incidentally been called "squaw" on occasion.  She was teased because she was silent, she was stolid, she never smiled, she never cried.  She was not "girl-like."  She was totally impassive, except when pushed too far, when she would show a flash of anger.  I recall no one ever talking to her in a normal manner.  She had no friends.  She sought no friends, and no one approached her except to tease her, to provoke her.

As I look, just now, at my seventh grade class photo, I see Diane with a beautiful smile on her face.  I'm startled.  I don't remember her ever smiling.  I don't recall her being attractive.  But there she is.

I remember a girl named Jean who I had known in earlier grades as well.  She also was silent and impassive.  But she never showed anger.  She was just vague and "absent."  She was noted for having a desk covered with used Kleenexes, and a load of used Kleenexes inside her desk as well.  Her nose seemed to run constantly.  That made her different enough to require ostracism and teasing.

And I remember a girl named Eloise.  A girl with a constant tense frown.  Eloise was a simmering mass of anger with a very short fuse.  Boys, when bored, could have a little excitement by lighting her fuse.  Her explosions were quite satisfying.

What impresses me now about these three girls, and others as well, is the loneliness they must have experienced.  None of them was a good student.  None had any obvious hobbies or interests that would attract envious attention.  None was verbally articulate.  They were all non-entities, as far as the rest of us were concerned, except when they could be used for our amusement.

I happened to be a leader during those two grades, and president of our class.  But my leadership was always insecure, always based on my sense of humor, my ability to act a bit crazy as compensation for "being a brain," and my ability to get along with most fellow students. These attributes were definitely less firm bases for popularity than athletic skills or ability to make girls swoon.  I never took part in the general teasing.  It didn't interest me; it seemed stupid.  I felt sorry, in a very casual and offhand way, for the girls being teased.  I wasn't outraged.  I'm sure that sometimes I laughed.

I certainly never told anyone to "knock it off!"  A leader -- especially in seventh grade -- can only lead the mob in directions that the mob already wants to go.  Unless he is far more confident of his role as leader than I was.

True, I certainly could have helped the girls without threatening my precious place in the class ecosystem, without offending my classmates.  I could have said "hi" to Diane when I saw her.  I could have asked her about an assignment.  I could have shown some interest in her life.  I could have, perhaps none too tactfully, even asked her about her Indian background.  It never occurred to me.  If I had approached, if I had tried to talk to her, I might possibly have been kidded about having an "Indian girl friend," but no one would have thought less of me. Of course, she may have ignored me, even resented me -- when you're the butt of jokes, you are suspicious of sudden attempts at kindness.

But it just never occurred to me.  At 12 or 13, my ability to act socially according to plan, rather than just to react, was undeveloped.  I went with the flow, and was satisfied simply to not join in the teasing.

I listen to Keaton's tearful video, and realize now how he feels.  And how those girls in junior high felt.  It's not so much having milk poured on him at lunch, or being the butt of an occasional insult.  It's the feeling that he not only has not one friend on earth, but that no one will even talk to him as a normal casual acquaintance.   He feels totally isolated.  He sounds like a suicide risk.

I have no idea what happened to Diane or Eloise after eighth grade.  I did read a submission from Jean in a reunion class book, years later.  She sounded happy with life.  She apparently had fought her way through all those Kleenexes, and past her social isolation.

I hope the same is true of all those other kids I knew in school.  I hope it will be true for Keaton.  I'm sorry that so many kids suffer so much from bullying and teasing during their young years, years that should be fun and exciting. 

In response to Keaton's video, a number of athletes and actors have contacted him and offered their encouragement.  His mother has thanked everyone for their friendly concern and messages.  But, as she notes, Keaton still has to go to school, still has to face the same kids tomorrow.  Those kids won't be impressed by Keaton's video, by his tears, or by his sudden fame. 

Not much will change.